‘You want me to pass on messages to my wife?’ I ask. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘It isn’t,’ he says. ‘Look, Leo, I’m not sure you’re completely up to speed - I really think we should talk. And I appreciate it’s a bit of a drive, but I need to be here in case Janice calls. Plus, I’ve got to keep an eye on my son.’
‘I’m looking after Ruby,’ I begin, but Olly interrupts, telling me – loudly enough for Rothschild to hear – that he can look after her.
‘Go,’ he whispers. ‘Might be helpful.’ I know he’s right because I’m thinking the same, even though I’d actually like to go and murder Jeremy Rothschild.
‘I – maybe, I – oh, bloody hell. Fine, I’ll come. After I’ve put –’
I swallow. ‘After I’ve put my daughter to bed.’
‘Come via Kentish Town,’ he texts, a short while later, as if we’re meeting for a friendly beer. ‘There’s an Arsenal match on; Holloway Road will be at a standstill.’
Chapter Thirty-One
LEO
An hour later I am standing outside a large, very handsome house. Rothschild opens the door, and instead of delivering a devastating right hook I have to ask him for money for the parking meter. I left home without my wallet and there’s extra football parking restrictions tonight.
Then we’re standing in his spacious kitchen, looking at each other, and he’s saying thank you very much for coming over, and I don’t reply because I haven’t the faintest idea what to say and I’m worried I might break down.
‘She’s my girl,’ I manage, eventually.
Rothschild says nothing.
‘Mine,’ I repeat, and to my fury, my eyes fill with tears. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near her.’
The kitchen is perfectly silent for a while. Outside twilight is falling and the plane trees in the park move silkily, on a breeze we can’t hear. I imagine this house is fitted with very expensive windows.
When Rothschild finally speaks, his voice is careful. ‘I have tried to help her, over the years. From a distance.’
‘We don’t want or need your help.’
‘I understand. And I don’t know what you’ve been told, Leo, but I’ve done my best for her. I’m not the villain: I feel for her.’
I stare at him. ‘You feel for her? You “feel” for a child you fathered?’
He stops. ‘A child I – what?’
‘All I want you to know is that I have raised Ruby; she loves me, and you are not to come anywhere near that. I also want you to know that I despise men like you, with your entitlement. Fathering a child and then taking zero responsibility for what you’ve done – you selfish establishment fuck.’
Rothschild – who, as the son of a docker, probably didn’t deserve ‘establishment’ – is looking quite lost. ‘What in the name of God are you talking about?’ he asks. ‘What child?’
‘Don’t. Really, please don’t.’
He takes a deep breath, as though he’s making a conscious effort not to lose it. I notice their back garden, lit by pretty fairy lights, is full of alliums. I want to go out and hack every graceful purple globe off at the stem.
‘Shall we start again? Did you just suggest I’m Ruby’s father?’
‘I didn’t suggest. I know.’
He raises his hands in front of him. ‘I have no idea where this has come from, but you’ve got it wrong, Leo.’